


we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when

by laekanik



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-28
Updated: 2019-12-28
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:55:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,632
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22000105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/laekanik/pseuds/laekanik
Summary: Natasha closed her eyes. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Which one was he though? She slowly turned around.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Natasha Romanov
Comments: 1
Kudos: 24





	we’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously this is not canon compliant. Is taking place after Civil War if things had ended a lot differently and a bit more amicably.

Jazzy music wriggled its way through the door and into her ears, assuring her that someone was home. After waiting for a solid minute outside of the door and knocking intermittently, Natasha took whatever shred of patience she had and stowed it away for another time.

Placing her paper bag of items on the ground, she dug in her pockets until she came up with a few wisps of lint and a bobbi pin. She crouched in front of the door and went to work. Hearing a click after a few moments of jiggling, she straightened up, reclaimed the paper bag, and opened the door with the confident air of an owner.

The sun had set outside and the street lamps had been turned on, casting their golden glow through the windows of the apartment and banishing some of the dark. Readjusting the bag on her hip and closing the door behind her with her foot, Natasha peered around the front room. Aside from the swinging music, there was silence. Though she didn't sense any activity, she didn't sense complete emptiness either.

She rounded the corner, glancing at the knick knacks and books on the shelf out of distant curiosity and habit of gauging a room. "Steve?" She repeated, a bit louder this time as she entered his living room before stopping in her tracks.

Sitting in the armchair in the corner of the room, half-bathed in shadows was Barnes.

She subtly eased from defensive to a more relaxed stance and forced a bored expression on her face, as if she were in no way surprised to see him.

"He's not here." The light caught the whiteness of his teeth as he answered her unspoken question, causing him to look like a disembodied pair of eyes and a mouth; as if he were a morose, albeit menacing Cheshire Cat.

"Where is he?"

The song changed. Vera Lynn's warbling filled the room.

"He's on a date." He rested his temple on his fist, the moon catching half his face in its glow. "With Sharon."

"Sharon?" she repeated, unable to fight the tiniest of proud grins from pulling at her lips.

"Yep. Said not to wait up."

She gave his sitting alone in the dark listening to old love songs a once over. "What's this then?"

He opted not to answer, instead inclining his head towards her arms.

"What's in the bag?"

She looked up from the table where she was already setting it down and over her shoulder at him.

"Not a bomb. Or a weapon of any kind so you can put the gun away."  
Her eyes fell pointedly to his thigh where his hand resting casually next to it was holding a pistol. It was hard to see in the shadows but unmissable to her. He now unabashedly rested his hand on his knee, gun hanging loosely from his fingertips. 

She considered just leaving him there to his moping and reminiscing but decided against it.

"It's a bag of movies, games, and snacks for Steve. There's still a lot to get him caught up with," she said, walking fluidly to the chair across the room from him and taking a seat, crossing her legs with flourish and giving him an ambiguous smile.

"Mind if I wait up with you?" she asked casually.

“Tell them I won’t be long,” Vera crooned.

"He might bring her home."

She smirked. "Knowing Steve like I do, he'll walk her to her house and then come home alone like a good boy."

"How well do you know him?"

She grinned at the light protectiveness in his voice. "Not as well as you but well enough. We're friends."

"Then why did you fight against him?"

She leaned back in her chair, giving him a mocking smile.

"Oh, you're not still mad about that, are you?"

His expression was more telling than any vitriolic reply he could give.

"It wasn't anything personal,” she said more seriously.

He studied her face for a few moments more before giving an almost imperceptible nod and looking away.  
They sat quietly and let the music independently fill the silence. Her mind had wandered off somewhere that was neither dark nor pleasant before his voice pulled her back.

"What did you mean when you said that I could at least recognize you?"

She felt unease settle in the pit of her stomach but willed it to diminish as a lie rolled automatically from off her tongue.

"You've tried to kill me twice. I figured you'd recognize me from those charming altercations as well as my file which you were no doubt briefed on."

He scoffed out a dry chuckle and repositioned himself in his chair.

"And the truth?"

She inclined her head slightly. "What about it?"

"Can I hear it?"

"You just did."

"No," he said flatly, banishing even the slightest hint of ease in the room.

She studied him shrewdly. "I don't know what you're trying to get at," she finally replied. 

He leaned forward in his chair.

"You were talking about something else. Something from before."

She held his gaze coldly, her light manner now completely abandoned.

"I think it's times for me to go." She finally said, maintaining eye contact for a second more before pushing herself from her chair and walking quickly to the door. Steve's whole apartment slowly seemed to be getting too small for the both of them.

Her fingertips had just barely touched the doorknob before a tremor and a resounding thump shook the entire frame. Bucky's silver arm had shot out over her shoulder, his palm pressed flat against the door, holding it closed.

He seemed to realize how menacing he had made the situation and hung his head tiredly. The wood creaked as he leaned heavily on it. He exhaled slowly, his breath running through Natasha's hair.

"You're going to break Steve's door," she said softly.

He ignored this. "Please," he implored, surprising her. "I need to know."

Natasha sighed silently but kept her frame rigid and unrelaxed. "Why?"

"I need to remember. Anything. I need something to hold on to."

Natasha closed her eyes. Stuck between a rock and a hard place. Which one was he though? She slowly turned around.

With his hand still resting firmly against the door they were nearly chest to chest. She looked up into his haunted face and considered the raw desperation in his eyes. Fine.

"Do you have any idea where you were twenty years ago?"

"No."

"Do you remember Russia?"

He seemed to shiver and his brow twitched.  
"Of course."

"Do the words "Krasnaya Komnata" mean anything to you?"

He frowned and then his eyes suddenly widened as a series of images sped through his head, triggered by her words. 

Girls. Dozens of girls in tutus spinning and leaping with formidable grace as he watched from the wings with their instructors. Watching for mistakes. Their small grunts as they placed and received blows from one another and from...him.

A flash of red. Not blood this time. Hair. She evaded his punch before leaping in the air and landing a kick to his jaw. His mask fell off and he doubled over. He heard her panting behind him.  
"Are you hurt?" She asked it distantly, with no real concern but at least she had asked.  
He watched from the wings several months later as she danced in her black tutu. He had known that they would select her to be their widow. She had been the best.

He blinked rapidly and there she was. Pressed against the door in front of him. Older. More beautiful. More experienced. More free-thinking. She did not belong to them anymore.

She seemed to understand his expression. As if she had crawled into his head like the spider she had been crowned as and watched his memories slide into place.

"I'm one of the few that can actually get an edge on you. Suppose you have yourself to thank for that."

"I...I--" he stuttered, but the words would not come. He didn’t even know where to start.

"You helped train me. You helped make me into what I was."

He swallowed thickly, his eyes staring past her. Those girls had been tortured into weapons with no empathy. Their childhood had been stolen and replaced with cold training rooms and punishments that ended in blood. 

"How can you even look at me?" he whispered, his faces contorting as a spasm of pain flitted across it.

"Well," she looked past him in consideration before finishing honestly. "I don't really look at you that often."

That often. His face weakly transformed as he almost smirked and his eyes glinted dimly with a teasing expression.

"Don't get cocky now."

He absentmindedly tapped the door with his forefinger as they lapsed into a silence slightly more comfortable than before. The air had been cleared but would slowly fill with more questions, Natasha sensed.

"I'm going to go now," she announced lowly.

She saw a flicker of what might've been disappointment cross his face. She supposed he was lonely but he would cope with it. They all did. She had.

"So are you going to let me go?"

He frowned in bewilderment at her words before she inclined her head towards his arm. He lifted it up quickly as if he had been burned and brought it to his side.  
She immediately spun on her heel and opened the door.

"Thank you," she heard him say.

She paused in the doorframe before looking over her shoulder and giving him the smallest of tight-lipped smiles.

"Give Steve the bag once he gets home," was all she said in farewell before starting down the hall. She felt his eyes on her all the way to the elevator.


End file.
